Mental Health
Quirky Feminism, Queer TikTok, and My Busy, Burnt-Out Body
Here’s what I’ve learned about gendered relationships and self-awareness this year, and why TikTok thinks I’m queer.
Oh it’s funny how
The warning signs can feel like they’re butterflies
— Graveyard, Halsey
Too long, I have tried to become something I am not
Take, for example, Exhibit A: Romance.
I am VERY bad at it, and I don’t enjoy it.
Perhaps that’s because my stomach lurches whenever I invest myself in something new (and therefore dangerous.)
Perhaps it’s because I dissociate and often snap back in rage under the slightest criticism. How dare they explore my insecurities. How dare they pretend to like me for who I am?
They smell my breath.
My face oozes emotion.
And when the tears do come, I can’t find the right words to wipe them away.
Weak.
I am tired of feeling adrift, tired of feeling like I should amount to more.
Tired of being told what I want.
Why do we try so hard to become something we are not?
Quirky Feminism
I support feminism, and you should too.
But I’m not yet sure how to be a ‘good’ feminist.
I’m not convinced I measure up.
Feminism, at its core, is believing that men, women, and members of the LGBTQIA+ community — everywhere — should be treated with equal respect, no matter what they look like or how they present themselves. With equal respect comes equal pay, sexual liberation, and all the other little joys of being treated like a human being on planet Earth.
Treat people the way you would want to be treated, full stop.
When I lived in the male-dominated student housing we affectionately called the ‘Trap House,’ heated discussions lit up the kitchen as tenants discussed privilege. Porn. Relationships. Hallucinogens. Cars. Vegetarianism.
Feminism.
Many of the guys I lived with would call themselves feminists and degrade women in the same breath.
“Girls are just scientifically bad at driving.”
“You’re not like other girls.”
“She was throwing herself at me last night.”
“You look so much better when you do your makeup.”
In the beginning, I thought that the issue was a lack of understanding. I came in with my quirky feminism and explained why these types of statements were hurtful.
I explained that one friend’s “harmless comments” perpetuated violence and complicated the way my friends spoke about women. I was immediately told that I was preventing the guys from expressing themselves around me, and I should shut the hell up.
It surprises me that I should have to explain to anyone why (1) referring to an old acquaintance as “that hoe” or (2) making unwanted sexual advances in a group setting is, well… inappropriate. It also surprises me that some of my friends originally appeared to listen to my concerns, but later continued to make these mistakes for the rest of the time I knew them.
It never ceases to amaze me how intelligent, kindhearted friends can make sweeping statements about female weakness or suggest that a girl is going through “that time of the month.” I can’t reconcile these red flags, can’t combine these two images of the same person I thought I knew — how can someone be loyal and insightful, yet still so terribly sexist?
I also surprise myself whenever I take sexist comments to heart. I anticipate the gender roles that other people expect of me. I change myself for people, and I’m only aware of this change in the aftermath.
The same week my friend nattered about horrid female drivers, I hit a bump in the road.
Women are bad drivers.
I exhaled and continued down Broadway. Ignore him.
I was being too sensitive.
Wasn’t I?
When I’m in a new relationship, I anticipate the needs of my partner. I wear makeup. At first, I let them take lead. I avoid getting angry and struggle to keep the peace, even when someone else makes a mistake that hurts me. That sort of people-pleasing never lasts long.
How can I stand for feminism when I’m still learning what it means to express myself and stand up for what is right?
Do other people take me seriously?
Is my “quirky” feminism a joke to you?
We need to have productive conversations about femininity and masculinity if we hope to overcome misinformed attitudes about gender. We need these conversations at home, across generations, and with friends. We need these conversations in the classroom and on the subway. So why aren’t these conversations creating change outside of academic circles, my left-wing friend groups, and my queer-coded Instagram feed?
I shouldn’t have to explain that my values and opinions matter.
You don’t know who I am
Or what I have been through, no
So don’t dare tell me what I should and shouldn’t do
— Machine, MisterWives
The warning signs can feel like they’re butterflies
I have a prickly personality, and I spend much of my time running away from my problems.
I secretly called them “Cheesecake,” because I saw the red flags and empty promises, and wanted them anyway. I miss them. I don’t think about Cheesecake every day, but I think about the idea of them. Their curly hair, their soft stomach, eyes as big as saucers.
And I — ?
I just sat there, so flooded with chemicals it made me forget everything. I hadn’t experienced that feeling before, the sort of anxious attachment that makes you drop everything at midnight and drive to the bayside at a moment’s notice. I hadn’t experienced that type of consumption that makes you wish you could melt away, maybe even become the person you comfort and admire.
I want to be needed.
Is that what love feels like?
I wanted their hands on me.
In me.
And then I wanted them to stop.
But I had gone too far, hadn’t I?
I had the sinking feeling that this whole charade wouldn’t last if Cheesecake couldn’t get me to jump. And I wouldn’t be ready to jump for a good, long time.
This wouldn’t last.
How stupid could I be?
“I’m sorry.” I moved to find my pullover. “I need to calm down.,” I said, my heartbeat clogging my throat. I swallowed.
I need to calm down.
I need to calm down.
I need to calm down.
I need to calm down.
This is our reality.
Flawed relationships with myself and others
Cheesecake called me weak.
They lied to my face.
I made up excuses for Cheesecake. And whether or not there was some illness or critical reason for their behavior, it doesn’t matter. I was so hopelessly lost in them, and I didn’t even know how to take time to love myself.
Think I’m getting butterflies, but it’s really
Something telling me to run away
— Inferno, Bella Poarch and Sub Urban
More often than not, I find myself trying to disappear.
I scroll on social media or use podcasts to blot out the noise around me. I jump into new jobs and volunteer opportunities … or I sleep longer and longer each day.
I meet up with old friends … and leave feeling more confused than ever.
Do I not like how they’ve changed? Or do I not like who I am around them?
…Do I simply not like myself?
I’ve heard that you can only lend another person as much love as you give yourself. Perhaps that’s why I find new relationships so suffocating.
I saw other people in the interim — I went through the motions, I scrambled onto Bumble and met strangers for coffee. But I always meet visitors once and later tell them that I’m not interested in meeting again. I’m not looking for friendship or romance. I send them a message thanking them for their time, and disappear into the glow of Netflix and my tiny dorm room.
I don’t want to change who I am because I’ve been hurt.
But I don’t want a stranger to get close to me like that again.
Don’t dare tell me what I should and shouldn’t do
Someone I’ve known for over a year — let’s call them ‘Sweatpants’ — a person with whom I’ve shared my dreams and frustrations — asked me to visit them alone.
At night.
I’m used to getting cat-called in Los Angeles, used to having strange men follow me on the street. Used to dialing a Lyft when I want to travel two streets away at night. Missing posters litter the streets around campus. Last week, my housemates called security on a man who had been peering through our mail slot and following girls home in broad daylight. This is our reality.
But it’s different when a friend makes you feel unsafe. You don’t expect someone you trust to ask you for sex, but it happens. Sweatpants told me that I was a prude for not wanting to spend the night with them, that I was missing out… on what, exactly? I was so frustrated I felt nauseated.
My phone buzzed with their wildly unsolicited booty call.
“You’re drunk. Go to bed :) ”— I shot back my text and rolled over. My phone buzzed again, and I groaned.
“You need to let yourself experience life.”
Sweatpants likely won’t remember this conversation. But I wouldn’t be able to make sense of this unexpected, friendship-crushing exchange for weeks.
I shouldn’t have to explain to this person that:
- I most certainly DO NOT need to solve my problems with sex
- I can enjoy spending time with someone without desiring intimacy
- Now would be a GREAT time to shut up :)
There’s this sense of betrayal that comes with losing a friend. I feel betrayed by their insistence that they know what is best for me, but more than that, I feel that I have let myself down.
I remind myself that none of this is my fault. But how could I have missed the signs? Did I make a mistake? Did I do anything to lead this person on? Should I have relied on this person’s previous advice, and will I ever talk with them again? Do I want to??
How could I have acted differently, to make it absolutely clear that I only ever wanted a platonic relationship with this person?
How could I be such a poor judge of character?
This exchange is by no means uncommon. Members of all genders have to fend off unwanted advances, and some have to do it more than others.
Sometimes, it takes a year before you get to know someone’s true intentions.
This is our reality.
“If you have a mother, daughter or a friend
Maybe it is time you comprehend
The world that you live in ain’t the same one as them
So don’t punish me for not being a man”
— Man’s World, MARINA
Loud old ladies: champions of feminism
I’ve talked a lot about losing my faith in the men I’ve lived with. Who, then, do I trust?
Loud (old) ladies. Loud women are a force to be reckoned with.
In many traditions, women are not judged for being old in the same way that Americans accuse strong, vocal women today. The idea of the three stages of a woman’s life — maiden, mother, and crone — assigns equal importance to the roles women play as they grow older: they grow up and foster a family or a community. They learn new skills and eventually share their wisdom with others who are just beginning to build a life for themselves.
I am afraid to grow old not only because I will lose my youth. I am afraid that people may treat me differently when they realize they can no longer take me for granted.
How sad is that?
This is our reality.
Fortunately, loud women are working to change that.
As women grow older, they stop letting their appearance dictate how they feel. They share their opinions. They act and dress how they want, swear like a sailor and speak up for their own mental health. Often, this increase in self-expression means they must unlearn all the niceties they were taught as children. Even today, so many girls are told to be seen and not heard. We’re working to change that.
Speaking up explains how the #MeToo movement is changing the oppression in entertainment and politics. Speaking up gets women reproductive rights and medical representation. Being loud helps get us jobs. It helps us advocate for the planet. It helps us thrive.
I aspire to be very loud indeed.
TikTok thinks I am queer (and burned out)
Another group that is making change by being loud? Queer TikTok.
TikTok thinks I am queer and burned out. And perhaps I am both of these things — I haven’t quite figured out that part of myself yet. But I do know that confidence is attractive and that I do not want to live in a man’s world anymore.
Social media gives queer influencers, cosplay artists, confident women and neurodivergent personalities room to take up space. My feed is full of colorful, loud, confident individuals who share their opinions and make themselves heard in their communities.
What I wouldn’t give to join them.
I do not speak for the LGBTQIA+ community, but here’s why I and many others have found a home in this safe little corner of the internet:
Queer pride gives individuals a chance to break out of the gender binary, to explore their masculine and feminine traits, to disregard a system that labels our behavior in a gendered way at all. Many times, the TikTock algorithm seems to deduce that a user is a bisexual well before they realize this themselves. Members of the LGBTQIA+ community and those who have worked to fight toxic gender stereotypes recognize that people should be free to express themselves however they want without judgment.
And I was runnin’ far away
Would I run off the world someday?
Nobody knows
Nobody knows, and
I was dancing in the rain
I felt alive and I can’t complain
— Runaway, AURORA
Our busy, burnt-out bodies
None of this is new material. Young people of many generations have sought to be radically different from those that came before. TikTok merely gives people like me another outlet to engage with like-minded individuals and nonprofits, to shape our personalities away from our analog lives, where we might be judged for our ideas and temperament.
This is a uniquely feminist space. A space where gender no longer seems to matter. A place to dissolve, yes, but also a place to take what we have learned and apply it to our everyday lives.
We can dye our hair green and cover our bodies with tattoos.
We can choose an untraditional career path and love freely.
We fight for climate justice, racial justice, gender equality and mental health.
We question traditional ways of doing things.
We can empower individuals of all ages, from all backgrounds.
And yes, we are young, idealistic, sometimes privileged and at other times broke. We’re a motley crew. But we hope to leave wherever we go a little better than we found it, and our hearts are near bursting.
